


Distraction

by Isa_Iadel



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Phil Coulson, BAMF Natasha, Clint is stuck in a tree, Glasses, M/M, Phil's bed is a nest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isa_Iadel/pseuds/Isa_Iadel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil woke abruptly, on edge, and knew that something was wrong.  It wasn't completely unusual for other agencies to try and make a grab for Barton or Romanov, but no one had ever directly targeted him before.</p><p> </p><p>For the prompt: Coulson wears glasses, but no one knows because they never seem him wearing them (he always has contacts in). But Clint finds out one day and gets a little obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unfinishedidea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedidea/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: Coulson wears glasses, but no one knows because they never seem him wearing them (he always has contacts in). But Clint finds out one day and gets a little obsessed 
> 
> Inspired by this photo: http://shieldhusband85.tumblr.com/image/42641215651
> 
> Do not reproduce

 

 

**Distraction**

Phil Coulson was happiest when he was sleeping under an admittedly ridiculous pile of blankets and pillows.  In the summer he turned the air condition up just so he could sleep in something that more closely resembled a nest than a bed.  The feeling of falling into bed, warm and comfortable, after a long day at work was so good that he actually sighed with happiness.

 

He probably enjoyed it so much because it happened so rarely.  More often than not he nodded off on his couch trying to finish up some paper work.  And more than a few times he hadn’t even made it home and instead just caught a few hours of sleep on the couch in his office.  He tossed and turned; never sleeping deeply, and always woke up with a crick in his neck.

 

But on the days that he had time for a full nights sleep, he fell into his ridiculously comfortable bed and slept like the dead.  So it was odd when on what had been an uneventful Wednesday he woke abruptly just after midnight.   Explosive devices had gone off at two foreign bases and the Director, the Assistant Director and nearly half the personnel of New York office had gone to deal with the situation.  Everyone was else was on heightened stand down until they heard back from the Director. 

 

Phil sat up slowly, one hand going for the glasses on the end table by his bed and the other going for his gun.  He rose to his knees, unable to tell exactly what was wrong but convinced that there was something.  Slipping his glasses on, he used his free hand to grab his cell phone.

 

Something shiny caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he had just enough time to roll off the bed to avoid the hail of bullets that came through his window.  Keeping low to the ground, Phil crawled to the closet and kicked the door shut behind him.  He kicked several boxes out of the way and found a trap door.  Ripping it open, he grabbed a dark backpack and slipped down the hole.  He freefell until his bare feet hit the floor of the empty apartment below him.  Stiffling a grunt of discomfort from the hard landing, Phil shoved the gun in the pocket of his sweatpants and moved through the vacant apartment until he came to a window.  The sound of footsteps in his apartment sent him out the window and down the fire escape.

 

He kept to the shadows and dark alleys until he was reasonably confident that no one was trailing him.  He pressed a button on his phone and listened to only a single ring before the call was answered.

 

“Romanov.”

 

“It’s me.”

 

“I’ve got ten dead foreign agents in my brand new apartment,” she said, a hint of grumpiness in her tone.  “And I just got settled in.”

 

“They came for me too.”

 

“What?  Are you hurt?” Natasha demanded, the irritation in her tone giving way to concern.  Because it wasn’t entirely uncommon for some of SHIELDS enemies to make a play for the Black Widow or some of their other high profiles assets, but no one had ever gone after Coulson before.

 

“No.  Go to ground.  You know what to do.”

 

Phil caught sight of a dark SUV driving far slower than was normal and ducked down behind a couple of trashcans. 

 

“Do you need me to come get you?”

 

“No,” he said.  “I don’t know what this is about so keep your head down.”

 

“Okay.  Stay safe,” she said quietly, before ending the connection. 

 

Phil peered around the trashcans, wincing when he saw the SUV circle past again.  He waited until it was out of sight before scaling a disturbing rusty fire escape, doing his best to mind his bare feet.  The absolute last thing he needed was tetanus.  Once on the roof he surveyed the nearby buildings before getting a running start and jumping to the adjacent roof.  He kept going, moving across the rooftops and wincing with each harsh landing, until he was about a mile away from where he had last seen the SUV.

 

The second phone call rang for a lot longer than the first.  Phil was about to hang up, his heart pounding in his ears, and simply go look for the asset when Clint Barton finally answered his phone.

 

“Barton,” he whispered.

 

“Are you hurt?” Phil demanded. 

 

“No.  Did they go for Tasha too?  She okay?”

 

“Of course,” Phil replied.  “I think about I’m about five miles from your place but it’s hard to tell from rooftops.  Where exactly are you?”

 

“Wait what?  Fuck, they went after you too?” Clint demanded, and though he still spoke in a whisper there was a sharp rage in his tone.

 

“I’m fine,” Phil said.  “Where are you?”

 

“I’m safe,” Clint said, “They aren’t going to find me easily, but I’m boxed in.  I went out the window of my apartment and into the tree.  I have my bow and quiver, two guns and my phone.  That’s it.  And, uh,” Clint lowered his voice even further, “My phone isn’t charged.  I’ve probably got about twenty minutes of battery life left.”

 

“Fuck.  Stay out of sight.  I’ll call back.”

 

Phil hung up and made another call, feeling some of the tension leave his body when the Director answered promptly.  “This is Fury.”

 

“It’s Coulson.  Someone’s making a play for Barton, Romanov and I.  Romanov has gone to ground, but Barton is stuck and I’m trying to shake a tail.  We need backup, sir.  Is there anyone still in New York?”

 

The long series of expletives that escaped the Directors mouth were not particularly comforting to Phil.

 

“No.  The explosions must have been a diversion.  You-” 

 

“Put down the phone and turn around slowly, Agent Coulson.”

 

Phil dropped the phone, ignoring the faraway shouts of his name from the Director and turned around slowly.  He lifted the gun from his pocket and raised his arms as he turned, putting a single bullet in the man’s forehead before he ever registered the Phil was armed.

 

“COULSON?!”

 

“Threat neutralized, Director.”

 

“This isn’t a coincidence.  The New York office is low on personnel right now and they’re trying to distract us.  Phil, the closest asset-”

 

“We’re on our own.  I get it.  Barton is boxed in.  I’m going to go get him and I’ll call you back once we’ve rendezvoused with Romanov.”

 

“Don’t you dare get dead, Phil,” the Director commanded. 

 

“I’m not that easy to kill, sir.”

 

Phil ended the call and scaled down the nearest fire escape.  Gun in hand, he edged from the alley towards the street and once he saw it was clear of any suspicious vehicles he approached the nearest parked car.  He fished the appropriate tool from his backpack before breaking into the Kia.  Once he’d hotwired the car, he headed for Barton’s apartment and called the man again.

 

“Barton.”

 

“You still in the tree?  Still boxed in?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied.

 

“I’m coming.”

 

“What?” Barton demanded.  “Sir, you need to get out of sight and meet up with Natasha.  I can handle this.”

 

“You’re trapped in a tree, Barton.  They know you didn’t leave, so it’s only a matter of time before they find where you’re hiding.”

 

“Sir-”

 

“Blue Kia, five minutes,” he said.  “Be ready.”

 

He made it to Clint’s street without attracting any attention, but that changed the moment he hit the brakes in front of the tree by Clint’s apartment.  He caught sight of Clint dangling from the tree by one hand, but so did they and Clint was forced to throw himself into the backseat amidst a wave of bullets.  Neither of them spoke as Clint returned fire and Phil drove.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” Clint demanded once they were a few streets away.  He left his bow in the backseat as in climbed into the front, but took stock of his guns and bullets.  “I don’t have much ammunition.”

 

“There is more in my bag,” Phil said.  Clint didn’t move and after a moment Phil took his eyes off the road briefly to look at the man beside him.  “What?”

 

Because Clint was staring at him, his expression bordering on gob smacked.  Phil resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably.  He knew he looked a mess with his sweatpants and white t-shirt, but it wasn’t like he’d had a lot of warning before fleeing from his apartment.

 

“What?” He demanded again.

 

“Nothing,” Clint cleared his throat and turned to stare out the window.

 

“Barton.”

 

“Oh, fine!” He threw his hands up in the air impatiently.  “It’s the glasses, okay?”

 

Phil frowned, “You have a problem with my glasses?”

 

But Clint suddenly straightened, “We’ve got company.  You have a plan, boss?”

 

“My plan was to get you,” he admitted.  “I’m not entirely sure what we’re dealing with.”  Phil took an abruptly left, turning again immediately and accelerating rapidly.  “I think I can lose them long enough on the next turn for you to jump out.  Don’t wait for me.  I’ll meet you and Natasha once I’ve lost them.”

 

“Fuck, no,” Clint snapped.  “We stay together.”

 

“Why do you always have to be so contrary?!” Phil snapped back.  “I’m trying to protect you.  I’m your handler.  It’s my responsibility to keep you safe!”

 

“You-”

 

“No,” he interrupted.  “I’m replaceable.  You and Natasha aren’t.  You are going to get out of this car and follow protocol.”

 

“There is no way in hell I’m going to do that,” Clint growled.  “LEFT!”  He suddenly bellowed, “Left, left, left!”

 

Phil went left abruptly, turning just in time to avoid being t-boned by an SUV.  Clint rolled down the window armed with both guns.  He stuck his upper body out half the window and shot until his clip was empty.  Resettling himself in his seat, Clint reloaded both of his guns.  “I shot the tires out of three of them, but I think there was a fourth.  We need to ditch this car.”

 

Phil made several turns in rapid succession, finally pulling over and parking on the side of the street.  They paused long enough to grab their stuff from the backseat before abandoning the car.  They hadn’t taken more than five steps when Clint grabbed Phil’s arm.

 

“Your feet are bleeding, Coulson.”

 

“We need to go,” Phil tugged his arm.

 

“No, you’re leaving a blood trail,” Clint said in a rush.  

 

Phil glared at the smears of blood Clint pointed to and after checking the bottoms of his feet found they were both scraped and cut up badly.  “We need to separate.”

 

“No.”

 

Clint pulled Phil towards the nearest storm drain and fished around in the backpack until he found a crowbar.  He lingered long enough to upset the cover before turning around and bending his knees.  Phil sighed a little at the indignation, but allowed Clint to carry him on his back down the street.  The sound of an approaching car had them ducking into the nearest alley and crouching behind a giant dumpster to keep from sight.

 

“Clint, listen to me,” Phil shifted to catch Clint by the shoulders.

 

“No, you listen,” Clint hissed, his gaze intent on Phil’s face.  “We don’t leave people behind.  You told me that.”

 

Phil rested his hands on top of Clint’s.  “You’re right.”

 

Clint sagged, briefly leaning forward to rest his forehead against Phil’s shoulder.  “I won’t ever leave you behind.  I can’t.  So don’t even ask, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Phil whispered.  He ran his hands, pressing hard with his fingers, up the back of Clint’s neck and into his hair. 

 

Clint bit his lip to hold off a moan and raised his head, “Phil.”

 

Phil held his gaze, and really he never wanted to look away.  Had Clint always looked at him like that?  He jerked his chin towards the roof of the nearest building.  Clint nodded once, lingering to touch his cheek, before grabbing his bow and arrows scaling the side of the building to get to the roof and disappearing from sight.  He peered over the side down at Phil after less than a minute and held up six fingers.

 

Six.  They could handle six.

 

Phil rose to his feet and moved to the front of the alley.  He fired three shots in rapid succession and a moment later saw the other three on the ground with arrows protruding from their chests.  A moment later Clint was at his side.  Neither of them spoke, but they walked for a while until they reached a more central area with bars and clubs.  Phil flagged down a cab after hiding the guns in his backpack.  Clint’s bow drew nothing more than a raised eyebrow and Phil paid for the ride with money stashed in his bag.

 

They walked for a while and Phil couldn’t help but smile every time Clint brushed against him. 

 

Natasha opened the door the moment they reached the top of the stairs of the safe house, her face tight with worry.  “You’re late.”

 

Clint grinned and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, “Sorry.”

 

Her expression softened and she let him pass, her gaze turning to Phil, “You okay?”

 

He nodded and Natasha paused long enough to close and lock the door behind them.  Clint had disappeared into the kitchen and Phil was tempted to follow him, but he was tired and his feet had begun to throb so he dropped into the nearest chair and retrieved his cell phone.

 

“Fury.”

 

“It’s Coulson.  I’m with Barton and Romanov at the safe house.  Getting here was a bit…messy.”

 

“Its already been handled,” Fury assured him, “But I want you three to stay put until we have more information about who did this.  I’ll call you.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Clint returned with a bow of warm, soapy water, a cloth and a first aid kit.  He sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of Phil and for some reason did his best to avoid meeting Phil’s gaze.

 

“Let me see your feet.”

 

“Do you need my help?” Natasha asked.

 

“No,” Clint said quickly.  “I can take care of him.”

 

Bemusement flashed across Natasha’s face and she threw an expression towards Clint that Phil didn’t fully understand.

 

“Then I’m going to rest.  Call me if you need anything.”

 

Phil watched her go before returning his attention to Clint.  The other man reached out and gently raised his leg.  He was as careful as possible as he cleaned the cuts and scrapes, but Phil couldn’t help an occasional wince.  Yawning, Phil leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses long enough to rub his eyes.

 

“Thank you.”  Phil slipped his glasses back on and stared at Clint when the other man didn’t reply.  There was redness in his cheeks that Phil couldn’t ever recall seeing before.  “Clint?”

 

“How come you never wear them to work?”

 

“What?” Phil glanced down at his sweatpants in faint confusion.  “Its hardly appropriate for the office.”

 

Clint huffed, “I mean the glasses.”

 

“Oh,” Phil shrugged.  “No real reason.  I just got in the habit of wearing the contacts during the day.”

 

“Right.”

 

Phil frowned at the tension in his arm and watched as Clint lowered the foot he was bandaging and turned his attention to the other.  “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Hey,” Phil said gently.  “Come on.  Talk to me.”

 

Clint raised his gaze and slipped his hand up the uninjured part of Phil’s foot, stopping to rub his thumb around Phil’s ankle.  “I’m so attracted to you its literally stupid.”

 

“If this is because of the glasses…”

 

“I didn’t think it was possible to be more attracted to you than I was, but somehow the glasses actually make it worse,” Clint admitted.

 

Phil exhaled slowly, “Really?”

 

“And I kinda like that most people don’t get to see you like this,” Clint spoke quietly, leaning forward.  “You look…”

 

“Messy.”

 

Clint shook his head quietly.  “Comfortable.  You look like someone who has a life outside the office and I… I’d really like to see more of that.  If you’ll let me.”

 

Phil put both of his feet on the floor and leaned forward so Clint’s knees were bracketing his.  “You’ve seen more of what I’m like outside of SHIELD than I have of you,” Phil commented lightly, his eye sweeping over Clint, “Unless you spend all your time in SHIELD issue combat boots and cargo pants.”

 

Clint laughed, “Not usually, no.  I’m much more of a jeans and hoodie kind of guy.”

 

Phil smiled, “Good to know.” 

 

Clint leaned closer, still smiling, and kissed Phil gently.  They kissed for a few moments before Clint pulled back with a final kiss to Phil’s cheek and turned to rummage through the first aid kit.  Phil took the two ibuprofen pills that Clint offered before leaning back in his chair.

 

“I would have gotten you water,” Clint said.

 

“I’m fine.  If I promised to wear my glasses would you go on a date with me?”

 

Clint laughed, “Hell yes.  The glasses are definitely a bonus, but I’d go on a date with you no matter what you were wearing.  You know that I really like you, right?  I mean the glasses are seriously messing with me, but you know that it isn’t just about that.”

 

Phil smiled, “I know.  I never noticed before tonight, but I know you.  You’ve never really been one for casual anything.”

 

“I feel a lot of different things for you,” Clint admitted, “But casual isn’t one of them.”

 

“Its good that we’re on the same page.”

 

Phil forgot to breath for a moment at Clint’s smile.  “Yeah.”

 

He stood, careful to try and keep the weight off the parts of his feet that still throbbed.  Clint stood was well, one of his hands sneaking towards and taking hold of Phil’s.

 

“You look tired.”

 

“Tonight was the first time in a while that I’ve tried to get a full nights sleep in my bed.  You know,” he said, “That might be the thing that I’m the most pissed about.  I was really comfortable before this started.  There is no way the beds here are as comfortable as mine.”

 

“So its really comfortable?”

 

Phil smirked a little, “I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself soon enough, Clint.”  He closed the distance between them, smiling at the hitch in Clint’s breath.  Phil kissed him again, briefly, because no matter how interested they both were he desperately needed sleep.  His adrenaline high was long gone and it took everything he had not to sag against Clint. 

 

They retreated to one of the two bedrooms that Natasha was not occupying.  Phil climbed into bed and watched as Clint stripped down to his boxers.  Clint lay down on his stomach beside Phil, one hand removing his glasses carefully and putting them on the nightstand.

 

Clint turned off the light and Phil felt himself relaxing as he listened to the other man’s breathing.  “By the way,” he admitted quietly, “I should probably warn you that I’m a blanket hog.”

 


End file.
